Veronica speared Sid with an icy glare. “Alex knows I wrote the letters about Mrs. Barcelona’s son.”
The winds of anger fell swiftly from his sails. “Christ,” Sid hissed, clenching a fist. “How? What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. I denied everything, but an expert in analyzing handwriting from the war department confirmed I wrote those letters. Alex is planning to take the evidence to the magistrate. We’ll be ruined, Sidney. Ruined.”
Bloody hell. Iron bars loomed before his mind’s eye, taunting him. What was the punishment for conspiring against a marquis?
“I want you to kill Alex tonight.”
Sid’s eyes snapped to Veronica’s. “Tonight? I can’t do it now. These things take time, Roni. Planning. We don’t want his death to appear a murder. We want everyone to believe he committed suicide.”
“I don’t care if it’s murder or suicide or a complete accident. Alex Rawlings will be dead tonight or you will be.”
Sid narrowed his gaze, refusing to be cowed even though he had little doubt she meant what she said. In all he could not quite fathom how quickly a scheme to create scandal and exact a little revenge had turned murderous. He hadn’t entirely come to grips with her scheme—wasn’t entirely certain cold murder was in his repertoire—and had spent the last weeks stalling her… hoping she’d come to her senses and forget the plan to do away with Alex.
“Veronica, he may already have gone to the magistrate. Killing him now will just cast suspicion onto you.”
She shook her head. “No. His wife showed up outside my house and created quite a scene. He will have his hands full with her for a while.” A mischievous smirk pulled at her lips. “I happen to know the magistrate was called away on a rather urgent matter so Alex will likely have difficulty sharing his evidence today.”
Sid ground his teeth. Her conniving nature knew no bounds.
Sashaying forward Veronica traced a manicured finger along his chest. Lids lowered to a sultry half mast she gazed up at him with a kitten soft expression. “Besides isn’t it time you get what you deserve? Old Lord Coverstone treated you like muck beneath his shoe.”
Age old anger lit in Sidney’s chest. Reginald had intentionally pitted Sid and Alex against each other, perversely proving Alex to be the superior son. All those years of resentment… of being half a man… carrying a name that wasn’t really his… threatened to consume him.
“Tell me, Sidney,” she purred, “when did you learn you were… different?”
Gazing down into her crystal eyes, Sid could see himself as clearly as though staring into a reflecting pool—he didn’t much like what he saw. Bitterness twisted in his gut. “Just barely seven,” he murmured, falling back to the memories of a bygone day. Dark recollections clouded his mind. To this day Sidney’s mother looked to him with naught but disgrace in her aged brown eyes.
“Veronica nodded. Sympathy all but dripping from her visage—he detested sympathy. “You’re older than Alex,” she reminded gently. “Everything he has should be yours. It is your true birthright.”
Years before Sid had learned that Richard too was a bastard son. Reginald had given Richard everything. His name. His legacy. What was wrong with Sidney that he’d been granted none of the same? He clenched both hands into fists at his sides.
“You’re angry,” Veronica coaxed, running slender fingers along his arm.
Angry barely scratched the surface of his feelings.
“Hold to that.” She stepped so close the swell of her breasts joined with his chest. She exhaled against his mouth, her breath warm and intoxicating, before breezing her lips across his. She opened her eyes. “After today you’ll have everything. Me… The life denied to you…”
Wordlessly Sid exhaled.
Veronica smiled. She knew she had him exactly where she wanted. “It will be done tonight.” She broke away, gliding to her desk. “I have it on excellent authority Regina gave most of the Coverstone servants the day off, and fortunately for you I’ve tracked down a bit of help.”
“Help?”
“Yes. A man named, Josiah Baker. He’ll make his move in about an hour.”
Sid ground his teeth. “Fool.”
She startled.
“Don’t you realize the more people involved in this little plot of yours, the greater the odds of getting caught? I’m not working with a man I don’t know. Who’s to say he’s trustworthy?”
Veronica narrowed her eyes to slits. “I involved him because he’s the perfect scapegrace if our plans turn sour.”
He quirked a dubious brow. “Oh?”
“Mr. Baker has a rather personal vendetta against Charlotte Rawlings. It seems a couple of years ago she helped the man’s abused wife run away from him. If this attempt goes awry, he takes the blame and we walk away clean.”
Sid straightened, fixing Veronica with a quizzical glare. “You hired Baker to murder Charley a few weeks back.”
Veronica smirked. “Alex was supposed to be mine.”
“Imagine. The angel of the ton… jealous of an unfashionable redhead.”
She threw him a daggered glare and jabbed a finger at the clock. “Tick tock, Sidney.”
“So you keep telling me.” Mind buzzing with this new information he turned on a heel and quit the house, unable to banish a deep seated unease gnawing his gut.
Frustrated and ambivalent Sid stopped on the street corner and scrubbed both hands through his hair. He stood at a crossroads. Literally. Down one path lay everything denied him… title, prestige, a beautiful woman… but at what cost?
He looked to the darkening sky and drew a deep breath. “What the hell,” he muttered to the wind before straightening his shoulders and turning left.
* * *
Fully contented, Alex strode into his study, relaxed for the first time in weeks. Dressed in boots, trousers, and a simple linen lawn shirt he enjoyed being free of his restraining waistcoat and cravat—as though by shedding the stuffy garments he’d shed a measure of society’s shrewd speculation. This holiday in Scotland would be exactly what he needed. Perhaps he’d never leave.
He ambled to the cabinet, intent upon opening the secret compartment and having a stout drink with his father’s prized whiskey. He tried not to dwell on the fact his plans for the entire day were ruined. He’d intended to confront Veronica and then stake out her house to discover the identity of her cohort. She must be working with someone. Veronica was smart, but resources were limited to women and he was convinced she must have a man at her side. But then Charley had shown up and foiled everything—not that he was complaining. However, if Veronica had sent for her partner, or partners, after Alex’s visit, he’d never know…
Alex slid a hand down the broken side panel, searching for the handle to pop the hidden door open. Nothing. Nowhere to be found. Frustrated he stepped back and cocked his head to the side.
He could always get a bloody axe and hack the damn thing open.
In the end he tried one last time to locate the door, shifting his hand just a little lower and—click… Success. The small door swung open revealing the long lost hidden stash of liquor. A twinge of sadness touched Alex—his father was the last person to touch these bottles. He and the late marquis had never been close, but the memory of loss left him hollow nonetheless.
All the more reason to have a drink. Perhaps he’d even toast the old man.
Alex plucked the three quarters full bottle from the shelf, popped the cork and took a long drag straight from the bottle. Fire scorched a path straight to his stomach—he liked it. The burn distracted him. He took another smaller drink and then another.
Suddenly—and much too quickly for a man who usually had no difficulty holding his liquor—his head swam nauseatingly and his stomach lurched, threatening to spill it’s contents. Unsteady, he staggered to his desk and grasped the corner. His vision blurred and his head spun and swished until he feared he might truly be spinning.
Alex crashed backward into his chair
. His head… so heavy… lolled to his chest. His heart pounded in his ears and through the haze he became acutely aware of everything. Every sound separated. Every second an eternity in and of itself. Am I dying? The uncertainty settled deep in his soul, and he knew he could never be at peace with it. Not now.
“Hastings,” he wheezed, fighting the blackness rippling around the edges of his vision. Unable to hold himself upward he slumped forward onto the cluttered desk surface, succumbing to nothingness…
* * *
Sidney flipped up the collar of his greatcoat against the fiercely falling snow, and rushed through Bruton Place. Clouds and shadows engulfed much of the posh streets and spoke of a nasty snowstorm sure to come. Sidney checked the pistol tucked carefully into his waistband and kicked up the pace more than ready to reach his destination. He had less than an hour before Veronica and her surprise cohort expected him at Coverstone House. Painfully little time to crawl out of the grave he’d dug for himself.
How the hell had he gotten into this mess anyway?
Sid had set out to exact a little revenge—perhaps bed Alex’s wife and make him look the fool, but murder? The sinister notion had never crossed his mind until Veronica, and if Sid had learned one thing in his lust for vengeance it was that he wasn’t actually angry with Alex. The humbling reality was that no satisfaction lived in this reprisal. Sid was as empty and hollow now as he’d been before taking action. The simple truth was that his anger was with an old man so insecure and embittered that he’d taken his own life. Perhaps that was retribution enough.
For the first time in many—many—years a sense of peace settled within Sid; as though a weight had lifted from his chest. Now to halt the impending disaster careening toward Charley and Alex.
He turned down a near deserted road, squinting to see the house numbers as he jogged past. Number one… two… There it is. Bruton Place number three. Snow drifted over the walk leading to the red stained arched door. Sid hunched against the bitter cold and would have angled up the path except that a carriage rattled to a halt before the elegant townhouse.
He drew up short. Heart hammering. Could he really be this lucky? Lady Luck had never leaned Sid’s way.
Steam rolled off the horses’ backs and clouds of breath snorted from their nostrils. A footman leapt from his perch and opened the side door. An expensive boot emerged and the body of the man Sid needed quickly followed.
He jogged forward, holding up a hand to block the snowflakes swirling into his eyes. “General Witherspoon, sir. I need your help.”
Seventeen
“Alex! Alex!” A man’s urgent voice battered against the thick wall encrusting his whiskey soaked brain. “There’s little time. We must hurry.”
“Sidney?” Alex mumbled without raising his throbbing head off the desk. “Am I dead?”
“Oh, dear Jesus. Don’t tell me you drank the whiskey from your father’s secret liquor stash.”
Alex struggled to make sense of Sid’s words through the fog enveloping his brain. “Why not?” He lifted his head, swiping away a piece of paper stuck to his cheek. How much had he had to drink?
“Bloody hell this is a disaster.” Sid swiped the bottle from Alex’s desk and sent it sailing into the wall.
The bottle exploded, jarring Alex’s dulled senses. “Ugh.” White hot pain drove straight through the center of his skull. “What happened? I know I didn’t drink that much.” Slumping against the back of the chair he pinched the bridge of his nose, warding off the crippling headache.
“Sober up, Rawlings,” Sid ordered with militaristic efficiency. “Your wife needs you. Now.”
Ice cold water splashed Alex full in the face. He shot to his feet. “Christ, Sid.” He wiped the dripping liquid with his sleeve.
“Do you remember that opium we found in India?”
Alex’s mind flipped instantly to the memory. “How could I forget?” Powerful stuff that Indian opium. Young and stupid, he’d passed out for two days solid after his first and only hit of drug.
“Three years ago I added a good lot of the stuff to your father’s secret stash. The old man drank himself into oblivion the night before he shot himself.” Sid grasped Alex’s arm and hauled him toward the door.
“Wait a minute… wait a minute…” Alex’s head reeled, grappling to make sense of Sidney’s confession. “Why would you do that? Unless…” Oh, dear God. “So you know we’re really brothers then.”
“Yes, I’ve been aware for quite awhile, but now is not the time to discuss it. We must save Charley.”
“Charley? What’s happened to her?”
“Josiah Baker is going to kill her.”
Josiah Baker. The name sounded familiar but for the life of him Alex could not remember why. “How do you know this? Did Witherspoon hire him?”
“Not General Witherspoon.” Sid marched toward the study door. “Veronica. Veronica is behind everything, and not just writing the letters from Bernadette Barcelona.”
Sidney’s words sent a sobering rush of clarity through Alex’s veins. He stopped short. “I never told you Veronica wrote those letters or about my handwriting expert. The only way you could know is…”
Rigid Sid stilled and pivoted slowly to meet Alex’s accusatory gaze. The guilt in Sid’s soulful eyes spoke volumes.
“You’re Veronica’s partner.” Betrayal carved a vicious path through his soul. Part of him had suspected Sid may be working against him, but the irrefutable evidence proved devastating as all the missing pieces to the puzzle slid snuggly into place. Sidney had known of the trouble with Witherspoon and capitalized by spreading more scandal and rumor. “Did you have Charley kidnapped as well?”
“No.” Sid held his arms out, imploring. “I swear to you I would never harm her. Veronica hired Josiah Baker to have Charley killed so she’d have a clear shot at you. I didn’t know of any of this until long after we had Charley back.”
Baker… Charley’s story about the abused woman she’d helped escape to Scotland flashed through Alex’s mind. “Oh, dear God.” Understanding dawned as he snapped his gaze to Sid’s.
Regret glimmered in his brother’s deep set eyes. “Veronica is a manipulative bitch. She sucked me in with her schemes, but I will not go to the noose for her. No measure of apology can atone for what I’ve done, but right now it doesn’t matter. We must get to Charley. It may already be too late.”
* * *
“There’s been a change of plans for the Christmas season, Trudy. We’ll be traveling to the family estate in Scotland at the end of the week.” Charley gazed at her reflection in the mirror and blew a strand of hair from her face, waiting for Trudy to continue picking the knots from her curls.
“How lovely, milady. I’ve never been outside of London myself. Shall I start packing straightaway then?”
“Most definitely. I was thinking tha—” Charley stopped short, unease licking her middle as the whisper of a reflection caught her eye in the mirror. “Trudy? Did you… see...”
Judging by the expression on the maid’s face reflected in the mirror it was obvious she’d also seen the mysterious apparition.
Dread settled hard in the pit of Charley’s stomach as the solid figure of a man materialized from the shadows edging her room. Garbed in filthy brown clothes the intruder slipped across the room successfully blocking the door. Long greasy hair hung in clumps to his shoulders and obsidian eyes burned ominously in the soft lamplight—black eyes she’d never forget. Charley’s blood ran cold and she whirled, facing him head on. “Mr. Baker.”
A lazy grin split his face. “Aye, milady, and it’s high time you pay for your sins.” He palmed a thick bladed knife and flipped it in the air, expertly catching the hilt in the opposite hand. The razor sharp edge gleamed with menace.
Trudy took a hasty step back, clutching the silver hairbrush out in front of her for protection.
Charley leapt to her feet, searching for any sort of a weapon for herself and finally lifted the entire stool she’
d been seated on.
Baker laughed. “Come now ladies, you don’t really think the two of you have any hope of escaping me. Scream all you wish, but the door is locked and even if someone hears you’ll be dead and I’ll be gone long before they arrive.”
Trudy’s blood curdling scream rent the bedroom air.
Charley flinched.
Baker’s face darkened with anger. His arm snapped back and his knife hurtled through the air straight for Trudy’s throat. The maid reacted with lightening speed and dove behind Charley. The blade slammed into the looking glass, shattering the mirror and sending a shower of glittering shards into the carpet.
Briefly Charley locked eyes with Trudy. She snapped her gaze back to Baker.
Pure rage lined the brigand’s gaze as he lunged forward, another smaller knife clutched in his hand.
“Now, Trudy!” With all the force she could muster, Charley swung the chair toward her attacker, his gleaming blade just inches from her face.
* * *
Crash. The ring of shattering glass echoed from the second story.
A burst of ice cold adrenaline shot through Alex’s veins, sparking him to action. “Let’s go.” He could pound Sid and hash out their little family drama later. Right now all he cared about was getting to Charley before Baker finished his evil.
Grabbing a pistol from the decorative iron box on his shelf, Alex charged from the room with Sidney in tow. Together they hustled up the stairs and down the hall to Charley’s bedchamber. Alex grasped the door handle but it wouldn’t budge. “Charley,” he roared, desperation giving way to full blown despair.
Another resounding crash emanated from within the room, snapping him to action. He backed across the hall and threw his shoulder into the door. Heave! Once... Twice… The wood buckled inward after the third blow, sending Alex reeling into the chamber from the force of his momentum.
Light to Valhalla Page 25